


jeudi

by atlantisairlock



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Budding Love, Denial of Feelings, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fcking thursdays, man</p>
            </blockquote>





	jeudi

Rosa doesn't make lists. It's a thing. She forgets shit every now and then like normal people. She keeps a total of one (1) list in her head, one that doesn't pop up all that often but is important, nonetheless. The list is:

  * she got thrown out of ballet academy on a Thursday.
  * she got beat up for the first time (and the last) on a Thursday.
  * Charles got himself shot in the behind for her on a Thursday.
  * she broke up with Marcus on a Thursday.
  * she cried for the first time in, like, twenty years on a Thursday. 



And what she's saying is that - 

nothing good ever happens on a Thursday. 

 

 

Gina flies to Las Vegas to participate in a dance competition with Floorgasm on a Thursday. She gives Rosa her trademark wink as she's sashaying out of the bullpen that afternoon. 

"Don't miss me too much while I'm gone," she drawls, and Rosa rolls her eyes. "In your dreams." 

Gina grins. "Likewise," and then she disappears into the elevator with a flourish. Rosa watches her go, punches Scully in the shoulder for insinuating that she does, and throws herself back into a pile of paperwork. 

Yeah, she really fucking hates Thursdays. 

 

 

Three days into the competition, Gina calls home from the West Coast. 

"Miss me yet?"

"No," Rosa answers flatly, scooping another spoonful of salsa into her mouth. 

Gina's laugh is crackly over the bad connection. "Ro-Ro, you're so bad at lying."

"I'm great at lying. And don't call me Ro-Ro."

But she's smiling, and she knows Gina knows it. 

 

 

Okay, to be clear - it's not like, _god forbid_ , she loves Gina, or all the gross sappy emotional crap, which, ew. Admittedly, they fool around in Babylon a lot, and Gina turns up at her place three times a week with wine and some trashy DVD that they end up abandoning in favour of fucking on the sofa. Lots of innuendo, no strings attached, no sticky feelings, just sex. 

Which this annoying, inexplicably Jake-like voice in her head keeps telling her is a blatant lie. Most of the time, she ignores it, or knees it in the nuts when she's in a particularly bad mood and gets it to shut the fuck up. That's a little tougher when Gina isn't around to distract her, but obviously not impossible, because the Jake-voice in her head is  _wrong._

No strings attached, no feelings. It's just fun. 

 

 

Then Gina's plane crashes on the way back to New York, and it's not just fun anymore.

It's a fucking Thursday.

Of course it is. 

 

 

"What. The. Fuck. Happened." Rosa seethes, slamming her palms down onto Jake's desk and ignoring the stacks of files and jam jar of gnawed pencils that fall onto the floor. He's the first one who received the news, because Gina's mom called his mom who called him, and it makes her angry, somehow, that she had to hear about -  _it_ \- like this, instead of first-hand. If Jake notices the slightest tremor in her voice, he doesn't point it out; there's an expression of consternation marring his features when he looks up at her. "The initial statement is engine trouble. The plane crashed into the sea and no survivors have been found as of yet. They're searching, but... it doesn't look good." His voice drops to a low timbre, and she hears something like 'no definitive proof of death yet' above the static buzzing in her head. Rosa turns, sweeps everything off her table with a cacophony of clattering plastic and shattering glass. 

It's three in the afternoon, but Rosa stomps out of the precinct and heads to the nearest bar to get spectacularly wasted. How she manages to stumble home later that night is beyond her, but by some miracle she manages to flop down on her bed and just - sleeps. 

The last thing that crosses her mind before she knocks out is that the bed feels way too big for just one person. 

 

 

She has a Tier 5 hangover of epic proportions when she wakes up in the morning, and she looks like that one time she had the flu and passed out in a interrogation room for hours, but Rosa drags herself to work anyway, because she knows that if she doesn't she'll just end up getting drunk all over again. All the stuff she flung off her desk the day before - or what's intact, at least - has been placed back where it belongs, and Rosa feels grudging gratitude as she settles into her seat. The precinct is quiet. Jake isn't there; he's probably with Gina's mom. Amy's typing up a report with a subdued stillness. Gina's desk is conspicuously empty, and Rosa feels that irritating, unfamiliar pang again. 

Captain Holt walks out of his office while she's struggling to shuffle some paperwork, forcing that feeling away. He takes a good look at her, then stops in front of her desk with an inscrutable expression, as per normal. "Go home, Diaz."

Rosa growls. "I'm fine."

"That was an order, Detective," he states, with no heat in his voice. "Go and sleep."

Rosa-from-a-week-ago would have argued this order for five minutes minimum.

Rosa-now dumps her stuff into a cabinet and leaves.

 

 

She usually doesn't sleep like the dead, most days, but then this isn't 'most days', and Rosa thinks she has every right to sleep through everything but a earthquake clocking a 9 on the Richter scale. Eventually, though, she's woken up by an insistent, violent banging on her front door that makes her want to grab her axe and crack some brains open. She settles for her regulation gun, stumbling out in a haze of sleep and the last dregs of her hangover, and opens the door.

It's  _Jake._ Jake is outside her  _house_ at - Rosa checks the clock quickly - eight in the night. How the hell did he even know where she  _lives?_ Nobody knows where she lives. The only person aside from Marcus who does - did - is  _dead._ "What the fuck," Rosa begins, but Jake yells so loud she's sure the whole of Brooklyn hears him. "Gina's alive!"

And suddenly the world is more than a gradient of grey once again. 

 

 

Jake screams like a baby the whole motorbike ride to the hospital, but they make it there in record time and definitely faster than they would have if they'd taken the rattletrap that Jake calls his car, so Rosa thinks this one is definitely a win. The doctor on duty tells them 'family only', until he sees Rosa crack her knuckles with a menacing glare and he becomes a tad more agreeable.

Jake lets Rosa in first. The ward is dim, quiet, silent aside from the beeping of a couple monitors. Rosa manages a stiff nod in the direction of Gina's mother, but she only has eyes for the figure lying on the bed beneath the sheets, pale and limp and looking nothing like the Gina that Rosa knows and lo ---

Something sticks like thorns in her throat and she balls up her fists, takes a step closer towards the bed, looks at her closed eyes and the swath of bandages and the faint rise and fall of Gina's chest and - 

Gina opens her eyes with a smirk. "Ha, you should see your face right now, Ro-Ro." 

For a minute, Rosa does nothing but  _stare_ at Gina, eyes twinkling like she didn't survive a plane crash and land up in hospital carrying the wounds to show for it. When she finally manages to speak again, it's blunt, harsh, to the point. "What the fuck, Gina. Not funny." She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes - oh man,  _really?_ This is gross as hell - and yeah, this is most definitely not 'just fun'. 

"Oh, Rosa, I didn't know you cared that much," Gina rasps, but Rosa can hear the depths behind that throwaway tease, and she wonders when she allowed herself to care about - anyone. About Gina, especially. And what scares her is how it doesn't feel nauseating or freaky, like it did with Marcus and Steve and every guy before this, it feels strangely... right. 

She clears her throat when she realises that Gina's still waiting expectantly for a response. "Well, yeah, I didn't know I did either," she answers as gruffly as possible. "But that was before I thought you were dead for twenty-four hours." 

"Aww," Gina coos, and Rosa shuts her up by kissing her, hard, hiding the flush in her cheeks. Jake, predictably, ruins the moment by crowing "ooh, romantic-stylez" when she pulls away. At least he has the sense to retreat when Rosa shoots him a death glare. "Exit Jake Peralta," he says, ducking out of the room, following by Gina's mom, who gives Rosa a brief smile and a light squeeze on her shoulder before closing the door behind her. 

There's silence for all of three seconds before Gina breaks it. "Out of curiosity," she says slowly, dragging out the words. "What would you have done if I'd really died in the ocean? Oh, would you have cried at the funeral? You got a little sappy there, Rosa, that would've been so sweet - "

"Gina!" Rosa nearly yells, and Gina stops. "It's not a joke. I really thought you were - " Rosa trips over the words, tongue feeling too big for her mouth. "I thought you were dead. I really did." 

Gina's face softens into a genuine smile, the one she saves for the most special moments with the most special people. "I'm not," she replies simply, and something explodes inside of Rosa like a missile. 

No, it's not just fun. 

Maybe it never was. 

She doesn't know what this is. But Gina is warm and solid and real in her hands, and that's enough. 

 

 

Gina says 'I love you' for the first time on a Thursday, and Jake proceeds to choke on a fishball. Terry has to Heimlich him twice because Rosa says it back. 

Yeah, Rosa thinks as everything begins anew. Maybe some good things could happen on a Thursday after all. 


End file.
